“There you are,” the stranger says. “I’m Detective Sloane Ward.”

I feel like I’m going to throw up.

“We’re ready for you now,” the detective says, her smile quick, a flash of teeth.

10.

The camera behind Detective Ward is pointed right at me, its red dot blinking steadily. I try to stamp out my growing panic but I can’t—it’s wild and burning through me like poison. My chest squeezes unbearably and I can’t breathe.

I tear my gaze away from the blinking light to focus on the person in front of me. A middle-aged white woman, all business, lips flattened into a severe line, a permanent crease between her eyebrows. She’s flipping through a thin file, pen stuck behind her ear, frizzy brown curls brushing her shoulders. Her white dress shirt is crisp underneath a royal blue cardigan. She wears a simple gold wedding band. Her nails are filed down, neat but bare. Without makeup or flashy jewelry, she doesn’t look like she belongs in a town like Lyndens Creek—she’s different, an outsider. Maybe she’d understand us. I press my palms against my knees, rub them dry. Vera glances at me, concerned.

I think about everything I’m going to say and everything I can’t say. The words I practiced with Vera are right there, fresh on my mind: Elise and I were at her house. Elise and I were arguing but I don’t remember why. We separated and I called Jack. He came over and said he’d talk to Elise alone. I went to my car and was about to leave when I heard the gunshots.

“Okay, Katherine,” Detective Ward begins, and it’s jarring to hear my own first name. It feels like she’s talking to someone else. I never liked it and fought with Mom to go by my middle name, and now I can’t help but think Katherine belongs to another life, and maybe it does. To someone like Christian, obedient and loved.

“She goes by Remy,” Vera corrects gently.

“Oh. Okay, Remy,” she starts again. “I’m going to ask you some questions and I want you to answer them to the best of your ability, okay? This isn’t like in the movies or on TV. You’re not in any trouble. It’s not an interrogation,” she says, even though it feels like one. “I’m going to read you your rights, but it’s just a casual conversation, really.”

As she delivers the same short speech Vera did, my gaze shifts back to the blinking red light.

The detective notices. “Don’t worry about that. It’s there to make sure we don’t miss anything and everything we talk about is aboveboard.”

“Okay,” I say, my voice barely higher than a whisper. My throat is still scratchy. I cough, and it makes it worse.

“You all right?” Detective Ward asks as I try to clear my throat. She’s trying to sound warm, to make me think she actually cares. When I manage to nod, she moves on: “Please state your name.”